


A Little Rough

by Cur_Non



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, 18th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angry Sex, Hamilton can't shut up, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Touching in public
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 14:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6199294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cur_Non/pseuds/Cur_Non
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes John can be a little rough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Rough

“Of course, you would think that this weather would finally get climate change some attention, not to mention funding.  70 degrees over Christmas?  I’m from Saint Croix and I was still going around without a sweater.”  Hamilton was aware that he was rambling, talking just to fill the empty space between the three of them—himself, John Laurens, and John’s father—at the table in the restaurant. “Don’t get me wrong, I understand that El Niño’s a recurrent weather pattern, but…”  He trailed off as Laurens’ hand tightened its nervous pressure on his thigh, hidden under the pristine white tablecloth.  

Henry Laurens didn’t say anything right away, causing Hamilton to shoot his boyfriend a panicked look (I can’t stop, John. Help me.) and just keep going.

“…Of course, nothing’s going to change until the sea level rises enough to encroach on some billion dollar real estate.  Trust me, I’ve spent enough time down in DC to know that the day we’ll see actual measures taken against global warming will be the day the speaker of the house’s own living room floods.”

“How’s the chicken, father?” Laurens asked, interrupting Hamilton to the latter’s great relief.

Henry Laurens gave his son a disapproving look.  “A little overdone.”

Laurens looked back at his own, mostly untouched plate, and finished his second drink. Hamilton thankfully managed to prevent himself from jumping back into another stream of consciousness rant about some other issue good money would say that he and Henry Laurens were on opposing sides of by putting an entire piece of broccoli in his mouth.

“It’s good to see you while I’m in the city,” Henry Laurens said after several more seconds of silence.  “And how fortunate that Alexander was free today as well.”  He was lying and they all knew it.  At least he was polite enough to pretend that he enjoyed the company of his son’s flatmate.

“Actually, Alex took the night off to have dinner with us,” Laurens began, and Hamilton, knowing where he was going with this felt—for once—that he had nothing to say. “Father, I wanted you to meet Alexander because—we live together.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard,” Henry Laurens replied.  He glanced reproachfully at Alexander.

“What I mean is—” Laurens went on

“I’m his boyfriend,” Alexander said helpfully.

“You’re sleeping with him?  Like man and wife?”

“Well, man and man.”

Hamilton saw Laurens’ body tense as his father waved over a waiter and gave him his card without even waiting for the check to arrive at the table.

“Father, stop that.”  Hamilton rarely saw Laurens angry.  Irritated about work, sure, frustrated at the slow pace of bureaucracy, but not angry and not at an individual.  “We haven’t even finished eating yet.”  

“I’ve had enough.  For God’s sake, John, what did you think I would say?”

“Probably that you’ll see him in hell,” Hamilton interjected loudly, causing people at the nearest tables to look over. “When you can sneak a glance out of the boiling pitch.”

Both father and son stared at him.  The waiter returned and Henry Laurens pocketed the card and receipt.

“Goodbye, John.”

He left, and after a long pause Laurens abruptly pushed his chair back from the table and walked out of the restaurant, leaving Hamilton to hastily throw down a tip for the waiter and follow him out.

 

“John, I’m sorry,” Hamilton whined as he followed him out of the restaurant.

“Let’s just get a cab and go home.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, John, it’s not fine. I fucked it up.”

“Don’t start, Alex.”

“You’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Yes, you are. You think I can’t tell? You think after all this time I can’t tell when you’re angry with me? I—”

Laurens kissed him, hard, his tongue pushing into Hamilton’s mouth. He forcefully pulled the other man to him, felt his surprise and resistance.

They didn’t kiss in public. Not like this, not bodies and tongues and heat. But Laurens was basically disowned now, so what did it matter what he did anymore?

When he finally released him, Hamilton staggered backwards, nearly falling on his ass on the sidewalk. His breathing was labored.

Laurens hailed a cab and they got in without sharing another word.

Laurens made Hamilton sit in the middle of the cab instead of by the doors. He wanted him close, so close that he could slide his hand up between

Hamilton’s legs and rub that spot until his cheeks turned red and he started to protest. He wanted to undo Hamilton’s jeans then—jeans he knew his father would have disapproved of, jeans that were a little too tight on Alexander to be truly comfortable, especially now—and slide his hand inside and wrap it around his shaft, slow and teasing—make him beg and moan and plead for him to stop—

Laurens could feel Hamilton’s erection pressing against the denim. He threw a fifty at the cab driver and shoved Hamilton out of the cab.

“Upstairs. Now. Go.”

 

He unlocked the door to their apartment and pushed a rather bewildered-looking Hamilton into their bedroom.

“Strip,” he said, shoving Hamilton down on the bed.

Hamilton pulled off his shirt and looked at Laurens for a moment, trying to read his expression.

“John, do you want to talk about—"

“No. I’m going to fuck you.” Laurens pushed Hamilton down on the bed, pinning him with his body. He held both Hamilton’s wrists up above his head and with his free hand unzipped his fly and slipped his hand inside.

Hamilton let out a surprised gasp and then a moan as Laurens touched him—the fabric of his briefs still between them. Hamilton squirmed underneath him.

“Take them off.”

“John—"

“Don’t you want me to touch you directly?” He pulled off his shirt and undid his fly. His cock sprang out, already hard and Hamilton eyed it for a moment before removing the rest of his clothes.

 

Laurens bent him over the bed. He poured a generous portion of lube into his hand and worked it over his cock. Hamilton was unusually still, bracing himself with his legs far apart.

“Talk to me,” he said in a low voice as he pushed a finger into him. Hamilton spread his legs a little wider.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” he said softly.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Hamilton gasped out as Laurens pushed a second finger into him.

“You want me to fuck you?”

Hamilton nodded, his eyes held tightly shut.

“How?” Laurens slowed his movements down until they were barely perceptible and Hamilton whimpered loudly.

“What was that?”

“Faster,” Hamilton said, his normally strong voice taking on a bit of a whine.

“You don’t like this?”

“Please, John.” Hamilton rocked his hips back, as if that would bring him release.

At that, Laurens obliged. He increased the movement of his hand until Hamilton’s legs began to shake and his hands twisted the sheets beneath him.

“Please,” Hamilton said again, his voice taking on a bit of a waver now, “Please fuck me, John, please—"

Laurens pulled his hand away, and Hamilton’s knees bent involuntarily.

“I’ll fuck you,” he said, his cock rubbing between Hamilton’s legs, “if you promise to be quiet.”

When Hamilton groaned, Laurens nipped at his shoulder.

“Do you want it or not?” He pushed his cock flush up against him.

“Yes,” Hamilton gasped out. “Okay, fine. Quiet. Damn you, J, you fucking hot bastard.”

Laurens slipped his hand between Hamilton’s legs and let Hamilton’s cock rub against him. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Good.” He went slowly so as not to hurt him, and Hamilton pulled a pillow to his face to stifle his moans.

“You like that?”

Hamilton nodded.

“Tell me you like it.”

“I like it.” He was distracted, clearly, his mind for once not racing off in a million different directions.

“Tell me you like it when I fuck you.” Laurens took Hamilton’s cock in his hand and let him push against it, faster and faster.

“Yes, yes, J, yes—"

He wanted to fuck him so hard he would be sore the next day—that the scratches and bruises of passion would still be visible on his skin. He bit into his shoulder, hard, wanting so badly to give in to the pleasure, but he couldn’t, not yet, not with Alex still writhing beneath him like that.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“Ah, John, please, wait, I—"

“No. You’re going to come for me.”

Hamilton shuddered violently as the familiar wave of pleasure crested over him, and he came with his cock pressing into the bed, hot and wet against his stomach.

But Laurens wasn’t done. Before Hamilton had time to relish in his own pleasure he was fucking him, harder this time, and watching Alex twist the sheets beneath him.

“What do you want now, Alex? You want me to stop?”

“No—"

“What do you want? Do you want me to fuck you harder?”

He began to move his hand slowly, almost gently, still aware even now of how sensitive Hamilton got after he came. With his hand slick with cum it was easy to tease him, to take languid strokes and feel his body respond, and it wasn’t long before he was fully hard and moaning again with a note of desperation in his voice.

“J, please—"

Laurens knew he wouldn’t last much longer, knew he didn’t have enough time to make Hamilton come again before he did. That familiar ache of ecstasy coiled inside him and he knew it would be only seconds—

“Please, J, please, yes—"

—before he came, his hips slamming forcefully into Hamilton, pushing him up almost onto his toes.

 

They lay there a while, both panting and out of breath.

“Sorry,” Laurens said, his face against Hamilton’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“What? For what?”

“For everything. I was too rough with you.” He traced the bite marks he’d left in Hamilton’s shoulder.

“I liked it.” Hamilton’s tone was serious, as though he were trying to dispel any misconceptions about Laurens’ performance.

“It didn’t—hurt?”

“I liked it,” Hamilton said again, more insistently this time.

Laurens pulled away and ran a hand over his face.

Hamilton turned over. “John, it’s fine.”

Laurens kissed him deeply. He pulled Hamilton to him, feeling sleep creep into the corners of his mind. They kissed slowly, languorously, and Hamilton moaned into his mouth as his cock—still hard—brushed against Laurens.

“Shit,” Laurens said, sitting up. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Hamilton said. “Just kiss me.”

“No, I—I want to get this right.”

“What?”

Laurens slid off the bed and knelt between his legs. He took Hamilton in his mouth slowly, letting his tongue caress and coax him, and Hamilton shivered and groaned.

“J—"

Laurens hummed an assent to the sound of his name, and began to move faster over his shaft, working whatever he could not get in his mouth with his hand.

Hamilton moved like he wanted to sit up, but slipped back down again, his breathing once again elevated.

“John, I’m going to—I can’t—"

He knew Hamilton was trying to be courteous, trying to warn him that he was close, but right now the last thing he wanted to do was stop. He moved faster, harder, more insistently, and everything was heat, and Hamilton was biting his hand to keep from screaming.

When he pulled away to wipe his mouth, Hamilton was lying spread out on the bed, his chest heaving.

“You are wholly incompetent of being silent,” Laurens said, and there was a smile in his voice.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

“Really?”

“We might get complaints tomorrow.”


End file.
